


Stain in Your Blood

by Raikishi



Series: Drug in Your Veins [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unhealthy Relationships, Villain Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: It’s 3 AM.And there’s a serial killer on the landing pad.————Serial Killer!Steve pays Tony a late visit after his rescue.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Drug in Your Veins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923079
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	Stain in Your Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I offer no excuses for the fact that this is 5.5 years after when it was last promised :0

It’s 3 AM. 

And there’s a serial killer on the landing pad.

“Tony? Are you listening to me?” Pepper asks.

He’s not but says otherwise.

He tracks Steve’s movement across the landing strip. The former Captain America moves with confidence unbefitting a wanted man; with a little smile and a casualness about him as if he were strolling through Williamsburg for Sunday brunch.

“Meeting tomorrow with Fujikawa,” Tony says, “I’ll bring the tech. They bring the sake.”

At the counter corner, an alert pings. His protocols and alarms have been disabled, felled before Captain America’s passcodes.

Pepper sighs and offers nothing else. The silence that stretches between them is nearly oppressive. He can feel worry crawling out from her end of the line, digging beneath his skin like insects.

_“You haven’t been sleeping.”_

_“You've been seeing less and less people.”_

_“You keep looking to the corner of your eye as if he might appear.”_

_“Maybe you were right…” Pepper says, her thumb gentle over the new scars of his knuckles. Tony blinks at her blearily beneath the haze of drugs, wanting to ask where Steve was. If he got away. The words die away before Pepper’s solemn gaze, “To keep looking for him.”_

“If you’re lucky,” Tony says, around a dry mouth, “I might be there early.”

In the reflection of his whiskey glass, he sees Steve approach.

“Thank you,” Pepper says, her voice full of cautious relief.

His email pings. The notification appears above the alert for his alarms. 

“I’ve sent you a PowerPoint,” Pepper says, “For you to ignore.”

She has indeed. Her email sits above an obvious spam email.

<You should be bed, sweetheart.>

From an address that is nothing more than a string of letters and random numbers. Something any junk algorithm would have filtered out, much less one he wrote.

Tony forces a smile.

“Thanks,” he says, “I’ll look at it before bed.”

Pepper snorts, “I’ll be sure to give you the shorthand just before you meet them.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Be utterly lost,” she says and then after a long moment, “Good night Tony. Try and get some sleep.”

“Mmm,” unwilling to lie to her.

The call disconnects. 

He looks to his glass again. There’s nothing there but a melting ice cube. He sets it aside. 

All at once his surroundings go colder despite the warmth of the central heating and the plush carpet beneath his bare feet. His skin pricks with awareness, feeling eyes on his skin but unable to tell where they are. He feels like prey, lame prey given the brace around his ankle and the bandages around his broken fingers.

Or at least he should.

His feet move.

He beelines to their bedroom and his heartbeat is stone steady as he looks into the darkness.  


The lights aren’t on and he sees nothing. Doesn’t matter; he does not need to see to know Steve is there.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tony says.

Like a demon summoned, Steve steps from the shadows and the lights come on.

The edges of the room glow a low orange. It deepens the dimple at the corner of Steve’s mouth. He’s in casual clothes - not even wearing the under armor he’d stolen from Tony’s labs weeks ago - and he smiles, as charming and boyish as ever. Just that same kid from Brooklyn.

Somewhere in the back of Tony’s mind, a little voice verging on hysteria, screams that it’s not fair – that it’s cheating. Murder should have a scent, a look to it, _something._ Something sickly and cloying, like a mark against the very person. 

All he gets is Steve. 

Steve who fills his space and quiets the messy run of “what if” and “you should not” thoughts that make his head spins. Steve who pulls trust from everyone like a magnet, who can disarm with only a smile. 

Soundlessly, the Iron Man bracelets fall apart around Tony’s wrist, disarmed with Captain America’s thumbprint. Tony doesn’t track them as they’re tossed aside. 

His eyes are on Steve’s face. There’s a new cut high on Steve’s cheekbone, fading away into a thin scar. There’s another mark at the very collar of Steve’s shirt, a whitening scar that is moments from fading, just missing his carotid. Fresh wounds for Steve. Speaking of a mission he’d taken not long before coming here. 

Tony breathes in through his mouth and scents soap and cologne instead of blood and iron. 

Smelling like any hot-blooded American male –

_“The true Old Spice,” Tony says, spraying Steve’s cologne in the air just to take an obnoxious and judgemental whiff._

_He gets tackled for it – carefully – but tackled nonetheless and he cackles as he’s thrown into the pillows. The cologne bottle lands somewhere on the mattress but it stops mattering in light of the teasing bites down his chest. On his hips. His –_

“Hope you weren’t just planning on waiting in the dark, watching me,” Tony says, grasping for something, anything to fill the silence and chase away the memories. To keep him here instead of indulging in an old life neither of them would ever grasp again, “Because that’s a terrible stereotype.”

“Not for _too_ long,” Steve says. He examines Tony’s hand, turning it this way and then before pressing a careful kiss to the fingertips, “I’ve been told it’s important to keep an element of surprise in a relationship.”

_Relationship._

Tony makes himself laugh, “What’ve I told you about reading Cosmo, Ca – Steve?”

Steve tenses for a half-second at the slip but says nothing. The smile on his face dims but remains on his mouth. In apology, Tony kisses the corners of his lips, losing his breath in a little gasp as Steve lifts him up. 

“It’s imperative for my modern education and re-entry into this time,” Steve says, grinding their hips together as a clear distraction.

Fury’s old mantra. Steve almost manages to keep the derision from his voice. Almost.

“Well, allow me to assist with that,” Tony says. 

Kissing Steve is easy, before or after the Reveal. It takes nothing for Tony to lose himself in the touch, the slick warmth, the solid heat of _Steve_ , to draw comfort from a familiar body that relented willingly beneath him. 

“More,” Steve says, the words a moan against Tony’s mouth.

He walks them backward towards the bed, taking Tony’s weight easily as he falls into it. A large hand cradles the back of Tony’s skull – 

_He could crush me if he’d like –_

Curves the base of Tony’s head with gentle care, as if he were porcelain-made because Tony alone would never be a potential mark for Steve –

“Ouch,” Steve pouts, tongue flicking out over his bleeding bottom lip.

“Poor baby,” Tony mutters and puts his hand to Steve’s throat just to see if he’s allowed.

He is.

Steve only hums, leaning back into the pillows. His eyes are too knowing. Too full of understanding –

Tony squeezes and beneath him, Steve’s entire body ripples. 

A low groan, guttural and deep, pulls out of him. Familiar pink steals over his cheeks and throat. Down over his chest. Blood beneath Tony’s hands –

“Tony,” Steve breathes out his name like something precious, something holy and worth worshipping. 

Tony braces an elbow on Steve’s chest, holding his broken fingers over Steve’s mouth as his other hand frees his cock.

“What, Steve?” Tony asks, planting open-mouthed kisses over Steve’s throat. He tracks over to the sweet spot beneath Steve’s ear, toying with the lobe and then sinking his teeth hard into the juncture where his jawline met his neck.

Steve whimpers, his fingers careful and too damn gentle over Tony’s ribs. For a half-second, his gaze goes focused. Assessing. Gauging Tony’s injuries as if he were Captain still –

“Tony–” 

His concentration scatters as Tony squeezes him, eyes half-lidded as his lips part on a low whimper. Tony lets his palm rub over the cockhead, drags down against the thick underbelly. He’s long learned how to play a body and he pulls for all his tricks, wanting to see Steve undone before him. Needing to grasp at the Captain’s control and tear it to shreds between his hands. His thumb sweeps over the beading precum. He smears it over Steve’s length and the slide is smoother, better with how much Steve leaks. He bites ruthlessly on a nipple and Steve only moans at the pain, entire body vibrating with need, his breath burning over Tony’s fingers, overheated and desperate and –

Steve cums on a strangled cry, his hips pistoning into Tony’s fist, one hand like a heated brand on Tony’s hip and the other over Tony’s wrist as he peppers kisses over Tony’s palm. His fingers. The splints over the broken ones.

“Mmm, been a while?”

“You know it has,” Steve says with a little shrug.

Three months since the veil had slipped and Obadiah – what was left of Obadiah had been presented to Tony. 

Three months since Steve had walked away from Captain America. From the SHIELD. From –  


“You are the only one I want,” Steve says, reading something from Tony’s face, “The only one I need.”

He turns them both, laying Tony’s legs over his broad shoulders, his eyes gleaming as he sucks down Tony’s cock. His gaze does not waver, the heat in them intense and all-consuming, watching for every twitch, every tell – 

Probably the same way he looked choking the life out of someone –

Tony grabs for Steve’s hair. Yanks.

Power is a little thrill on his tongue as Steve chokes, throat fluttering desperately around Tony, his arms trembling as he tries not to shove Tony aside, the massive bulk of him reduced to a quivering needy thing for Tony’s use. Steve whimpers and the shiver mixed with his bright pleading gaze shatters Tony though. To know this man – this weapon of a human – would fall to pieces before a person like him –

_“I’d do anything for you, Tony,” Steve says over a dead man. The smile on his face is sweet and so kind. Captain America’s smile on a murderer, untouched by the gruesome scene at his feet._

Tony pulls out, shuddering at the webbing of slick between Steve’s bottom lip and his cock. He seizes Steve’s hair again, yanking him up and licking into his mouth, chasing the taste of himself on Steve’s tongue. He sucks marks into Steve’s throat, digging his teeth into the delicate flesh hard enough for bruises to surface, mottled and angry, for a second resistant to the healing of the serum and Steve begs him for more as he’d always done.

_“Your touch thaws the ice,” Steve breathes against his mouth, kissing him back. He sucks in a breath and shudders as he rises over Tony, expression urgent and hungry. His eyes are the same crystal blue as the ice that never left his blood, “Warm me up. Touch me. Please … Tony,_ more - _”_

And Tony – 

Tony had never been able to resist.

He grabs for Steve’s ass, fingers rubbing between his cheeks and coming away wet.

“Already prepped,” Steve breathes against his mouth, his thighs flexing on both sides of Tony’s hips. His hand gropes for Tony’s cock, pumping a few times, warm and wonderful, before angling towards his entrance, coaxing Tony into welcoming heat, entire body twitching as his ass meets Tony’s hips.

It’s just barely slick enough, on the very edge of discomfort. 

Enough for Steve to feel.

_“You can push me around a little. Shove me and bat me about. Captain America at your fingertips, just as your personal plaything. Make me cry. Make me_ feel _,” Steve says with a little grin and something else Tony cannot examine because Steve’s sitting on his cock, fucking himself with an eagerness Tony had never expected, on just a bit of lube and some spit, just enough for Steve to shudder and twitch with something like pain, “You won’t hurt me. Ever.”_

Feel.

Tony should have known something was wrong even back then, should have – 

“Tony, look at me,” Steve says and it is so stern and desperate Tony snaps back.

Steve holds his gaze, intense and unwavering, his hand moving slow and purposeful down his chest, toying with his nipples, squeezing all around Tony as he does, mouth dropping open in shameless moans. The discomfort ebbs away, pleasure rising quick and overheated, swimming over Tony’s chest and throat, drowning him in the feel. He loses himself to Steve’s pleasure, unable to look away as Steve toys with himself, pinching and twisting his nipples until they were red and his bottom lip shone with saliva. He squeezes down on Tony all the while, urgent and coaxing and so desperately _good_ for Tony.

Steve whimpers, hips twisting over a particularly good thrust that makes them both moan. His hand drops to his cock, fisting with urgent desperate motions, the groans falling like raindrops. 

Heat drips from Tony’s tongue, thick and heady and sublimely sweet.

He bears down with his unbroken foot. Fucks up hard. Setting a near brutal rhythm and Steve wails for it, writhing on his cock, one hand shifting to brace himself as he tilts his hips, allowing Tony a view of them, the ruddy red of Steve’s rim and the tight clench on every stroke, the slick glisten of sweat on his shaking thighs. 

“Let me,” Steve gasps, holding Tony’s thigh down as he works at their pleasure, rising and dropping with desperate urgency, drowning out Tony’s gasps with the lurid slap of flesh and his own fervent moans, the sounds twisting in Tony’s stomach, pleasure an electric heat down his spine, forcing him faster, deeper, impossibly –

Tony cums on a bitten cry and Steve kisses the noise from his mouth, thrumming with his own pleasure, mouthing Tony’s name as his hand speeds up and he releases over Tony’s stomach. 

“You were meant to keep still,” Steve says, lifting Tony’s leg to kiss the brace on his foot. His gaze is softly reprimanding and before Tony can offer a retort, he leans down to lick the spend from Tony’s stomach, cleaning him with his tongue as Tony’s brain fizzles out into nothing but want.

"Shoot me," Tony says.

Steve twitches but doesn't remark on the comment, instead, busying himself with rearranging Tony and biting a trail down his chest and stomach.

“Tony,” Steve breathes his name over and over in a low whisper that shakes him to his core, full of wanting, too heavy for Tony to carry.

Tony only cards his fingers through Steve’s hair in silence, urging him onwards.

One hand bumps against something metal and solid, hidden beside the pillows. The Iron Man bracers. That’s where they’d landed. He toys with them absently as Steve sucks a bruise into his pec. 

SHIELD was only a whisper away. 

Gentle hands move over the expanse of his chest, lingering over the arc reactor. Steve waits a beat, eyes closing as Tony breathes in and out, matching Tony’s breathing. Steve’s thumb traces over the old network of scars around the reactor, fingers slow and careful as if tracing ancient writings for a story. 

Steve looks at him. In the light of the arc reactor, his eyes are bluer than ever, ethereal and haunted. Near crystalline, as if they held the ice that still lingers in his blood. 

Watching Tony with such intensity it cuts down to the very base of him.

_Daring_ _me? looking for a weakness?_ _Trying to find me off guard?_

The questions are a pearl beneath Tony’s tongue, fine grains pressurized over time. He can’t let them out; does not want to see the old sorrow on Steve's face. And because he knows the answer already. 

Steve’s palm slips over the reactor, hides away the glow and Tony –

Tony drops the bracers in favor of stroking Steve’s hair.

“Go to sleep, Steve,” Tony says, exhaustion a heavy cloak on his shoulders, dragging him under.

“It’s too cold to sleep,” Steve says in a low whisper but he lets Tony pull him, his eyes fluttering shut as he settles into Tony’s throat. The point of his nose pokes against Tony’s neck, prodding lightly as Steve breathes deep. 

“Lucky I'm here to warm you up.”

Steve sighs, rumbling in contentment. 

“Because you still love me?” 

“Yes.”

The nightstand clock reads 3:46 AM.

There is a serial killer in his room. In Tony’s bed. Filling his space. Mouth on his own. 

He'd never left. 


End file.
